


Intimacies

by Athena02



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Canon Divergent, Clexa, Drinking, Drunk Sex, F/F, Fluff, Growing Old Together, Guilt Sex After Costia, Headcanon, Hurt/Comfort, JRot broke all his toys but now I get to play with them, Lexa Lives, Modern AU, Morning After, Never Have I Ever With Raven Reyes, Reincarnation AU, Saying Sorry, Some of the little moments that Lexa's death cheated us out of, Tridedasleng
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:10:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7095916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athena02/pseuds/Athena02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from all the intimate moments, large and small, Lexa and Clarke would have shared. Clexa. Ignores 3x07. Slightly NSFW. Inspired by a Tumblr post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “they never got a real ‘morning after’, waking up tousled and sleepy after sleeping solidly in each other’s arms. they never got to take their time; to spend hours wrapped up in each other, memorizing every part of the other. they never got to have drunk sex, tipsy on wine and each other- and they never got to wake up hungover together, comforting each other in their mutual misery. they never got to have a fight- not a fight about the fates of nations or peoples, but about the fact that lexa retreats behind her title of commander instead of allowing clarke to comfort her, or that clarke has a casual disrespect about the rules of etiquette that infuriates lexa. they never got to have angry sex, never got to leave stinging thin lines on shoulder blades, or brutal hickies in places impossible to hide. they never got to have make up sex. they never got to have a quickie before a meeting. they never got to have make up sex. they never got to have quick kisses in the mornings before they separated for their days of work, nor kisses goodnight before they fell asleep. they never got to hold hands or link arms as they walked through the street- lexa was never able to show clarke the peaceful beauty of polis, as wrapped up in politics as they were.”-- fuckyoujroth dot tumblr dot com slash post slash 140671160305 slash sometimes-i-think-about-all-the-intimacies-clarke

 

Clarke didn’t open her eyes. Just a bit longer, she thought.

Lexa’s bedroom was bathed with a golden glow, the mornng light soft and warm. Somewhere outside the patterned window she could hear the low hum of Polis awakening below them. But it was quiet enough, for now, to hear Lexa’s steady breathing next to her, and her heart skipped a beat to sync its drumbeat into this morning music. She opened her eyes then, and her heart leaped again.

Lexa lay next to her among the fabrics and furs of the bed. Her legs were twined with Clarke’s, and her hand loosely but possessively resting on her stomach. The morning sun was golden on her bare skin, and it reminded Clarke of the fire her lips had traced on the Commander’s skin hours earlier. Her hair, tousled from being out of its customary braids—and more than likely the way Clarke had run her fingers through it—fanned out across the pillow. She was heartbreakingly beautiful, but what took Clarke’s breath away was the utter peacefulness on the Commander’s features. Here, with Clarke, there was no war, no danger, no politics. It was just them and the love between them, passing between them like threads sewing two pieces of cloth together. Last night, with every kiss, every sigh, every tentative—and then bold—caress, they healed and strengthed each other.

The emotion was too much for Clarke to hold and she sat up incrementally, leaning forward to kiss Lexa’s forehead, her cheek, and then the corner of her lips before she settled back down. Her hands suddenly itched to draw, to capture her beloved in this rare moment, but she knew leaving the bed would end the spell and life would come crashing back down.

“Klark...” Lexa’s voice was thick with sleep, but it couldn’t hide the loving tone that rounded out the edges of the consonants in Clarke’s name. Her thumb caressed a small circle on the plane of Clarke’s stomach.

“Shhh. I don’t want to get out of bed.”

Lexa’s eyes opened. They were deep green, darker than a pine forest in winter, and Clarke willingly drowned herself in them. “Who said anything about leaving this bed? This is the only place I want to be today.” Lexa said, the corners of her mouth turning up in a gentle, yet sly, smile. Her hand shifted on Clarke’s stomach, a full caress tracing a path of tender fire.

The two women shifted, finding each other again. Each touch was slow, each glance made to commit the moment to memory, as they wove the love between them into the fabric of the world.

xXxXxX

The door opened with a bang, slamming into the wall sharply as Clarke stumbled through it. The room spun a bit, and she clung tighter to Lexa’s hand in her own. The music from the feast followed them into the room, pipes and drums weaving a wild and heady rhythm, interspersed with loud shouts and claps from the warriors shouting encouragement to the musicians. More than one warrior had seen the hasty way Clarke had dragged Lexa from the table with a wolfish grin and a laugh, and added their own raucous good-natured shouts of encouragement behind Heda and Wanheda as they left the room.

Clarke tugged Lexa the last few steps into the room, capturing her lover tightly in her arms. Their mouths collided with unfettered need. Lexa’s kiss was hungry but reserved, her desire held back by the last iron chains of her deep-rooted self-control, even as her hands skimmed over Clarke’s back, pulling the blonde woman against her. Clarke rumbled in frustration. The room may be spinning around them, but Clarke’s uninhibited need for Lexa was the bright flame on which she focused.

She broke apart from the kiss only enough to reach for the door, slamming it closed behind them. The music was muffled, but the sound of the drums beat through the door, an insistent driving echo. Blue fire blazed in her eyes, and her blood raced through her veins in time to a quickening beat. Her gaze locked with Lexa’s, and she pushed the warrior back against the closed door, pressing close enough to feel the heat blazing between them.

“ _Ai gaf yu in, Leksa.”_

The last shred of reserved control dropped and Lexa surrendered entirely. To love, to the wine, to instinct. To Clarke.

Their mouths met hungrily. Clarke nipped gently at Lexa’s bottom lip, and the tip of her tongue soothed the spot immediately. Lexa deepened the kiss, tasting the sweetness of berry wine on her lover, knowing that Clarke could taste the bright notes of mead on her own kisses. Clarke rumbled again impatiently as her hands slid up Lexa’s sides, fumbling briefly with the ties of Lexa’s dress pinned between her body and the door. She chuckled a little in drunken celebration when the ties loosened and the dress fell away, Clarke’s mouth following the path of the fabric as it slid down her skin until she was kneeling before her lover.

Lexa gasped, tilting her head back against the door as sensation overwhelmed her. She lost herself in the feeling, carried along by wine and the music and love, until she was completely undone.

-/-/-

They awoke much later, tangled in a pile of discarded clothes, clinging tightly to each other on the fur rug in the middle of the floor of Lexa’s room.

_“Skrish.  
              “Sha.”_

_“Ai hod yu in.”_

_“Shof op.”_

xXxXxX

  _“Heda, ai kru laik laksen.”_

Lexa’s face was an implacable mask as she sat upon her throne, regarding the kneeling _Azgeda_ warband commander kneeling before her. From her place at the head of the row of attending ambassadors seated in the throne room, Clarke could see the Commander’s green eyes studying the man closely, weighing his fate with hard eyes. Her forefinger tapped briefly against the arm of the throne, nearly too subtle for many in the room to notice, but Clarke knew the gesture was a sign at just how troubled Lexa’s thoughts were.

_“Bilaik may be ridiyo, ba der ste nou ogoud kom jomp op. Tona kru laik laksen, noumou Azgeda.”_

_“Heda, ai yongon ste haken, ai stegeda ste won op, nou ai op—“_

Lexa’s eyes darkened and her jaw clenched briefly. Her voice was a quiet, dangerous growl when she spoke. “ _Ai laik Heda! I op otaim!”_

“ _Heda_ …” Clarke stood from her chair smoothly. Her expression was calm, but tension sat heavy in her chest. Ice Nation had committed many transgressions, but it had been a very hard winter. Sickness and starvation had visited many villages in the past months, and it was nearly understandable—but not excusable-- that some within _Azgeda_ had returned to raiding.

All eyes in the room turned to Clarke, including Lexa’s. The Commander’s mouth was set in a hard, angry line.

Clarke switched into _Gonasleng_ , not yet having all the words she needed. “ _Heda, Skaikru_ farms were burnt in these raids. I ask that these men be taken prisoner for this crime, and made to work to rebuild the farms they destroyed. One year of service for each farm they have destroyed.”

Lexa’s eyes flickered. “ _Trikru_ villages burned too, _Wanheda_. Livestock and crops taken and destroyed.” The man flinched, knowing the law for such crimes, but his eyes stayed focused on the ground.

“ _Sha, Heda_. They have wronged _Trikru_ , and _Skaikru_ both. Their raids put the entire coalition in danger. Let them be forced to rebuild what they have destroyed, and provide for the coalition. Let them see there can be value in working rather than taking. Let them walk the warrior’s path no longer; their hands will never touch a sword again. To arrogant warriors of _Azgeda_ , surely punishment of this nature brings dishonor worse than death?” The man’s scowl showed the truth to Clarke’s words.

Lexa was still for a series of moments, then her eyes left Clarke’s to settle back on the man. “ _Jus nou drein jus daun_. Seven years of hard labor on _Skaikru_ and _Trikru_ farms. You have _Wanheda_ to thank for your life and the lives of your men. I would not have been so merciful.” Her gaze shifted, and she raised her hand in finality. “Guards, take them from Polis. Everyone else, leave. Now.”

The guards quickly grabbed the man, dragging him to his feet and quickly taking him from the room. Ambassadors and other courtiers stood to leave with a murmur of conversation. Clarke turned to join the exodus, when Lexa’s voice rang out.

“ _Wanheda_ , I would have you stay.” Her tone brooked no argument.

Clarke stilled, feeling Lexa’s gaze on her back. She took a deep breath as the last of the people left the room, and the double doors thumped closed behind them.

“I do not recall asking for your counsel, Ambassador. You are perfectly capable of respecting the rules of etiquette demanded here. Just as I am perfectly able to pass my own judgement.” Lexa’s words struck sharply against Clarke’s back. Her tone was reserved but cutting, the same one she used to upbraid wayward warriors and counselors as Heda.

Clarke turned to face the Commander. Lexa’s face was the same stoic mask, but something Clarke recognized simmered in her deep green eyes, fanning the spark of Clarke’s anger.

 “Are you, Lexa?!” Clarke crossed half of the distance between them quickly, her eyes blazing. “I know how you’ve walked the villages. I know you feel their pain, see their suffering. You think I don’t know about the supplies you’ve sent to _Azgeda_ , and how it must anger you that they’ve thrown that in your face?! Is that why you were about to execute him, Lexa? So that you could have a target for that pain?!”

Lexa’s fist slammed angrily on the arm of the throne as she flung herself to her feet, seething. “I am more than capable of separating my feelings from duty!”

“I damn well know that, Lexa! But stop hiding behind that mask you wear. Stop being Heda for just one moment, and realize that not every decision is so black and white. If you want to break the old ways, then break them. We may be lovers, Lexa, but I am still an ambassador and representative to my people. You asked me to help you build a different path for our people, and I am doing that. But don’t you dare hide from me or that goal.” The anger Clarke felt waned halfway through her statement, and her voice shook slightly at the end with unshed tears of frustration. It was as if a hurricane had swept over her, leaving her shattered and drained in its wake.

Lexa worked her jaw, and her balled up fists loosened. Her voice was quieter when she finally spoke.  “ _Ai laik Heda, Klark_. It is who I am. You say I hide behind that, but if I don’t---“She swallowed and left the words unsaid, though her eyes betrayed every nuance when she continued. “You know why I cannot let them see.”

Clarke dipped her head. “We bear it so they don’t have to.” Lexa’s mournful gaze met hers in a bitter smile. A long moment passed between them, and it was Lexa who broke the silence.

“Come, Klark. Enough of being who we must be for our people.” She extended her hand to Clarke, who took it quietly, recognizing it for the apology Lexa meant it to be.

-/Translations/-

“Heda, my people are suffering (hurt)”

“That may be true, but there is no good reason to fight. Many people are suffering, not just Ice Nation.”

“Heda, our children are sick, our villages will die, you don’t see—“

“I am Heda. I always see!”

xXxXxX

Raven laughed loudly, as Clarke slugged the shot of moonshine, banging her empty cup down on the mess hall table.

“Oh, now I know I’ve struck a nerve. Clarke Griffin, Sky Princess herself, turning bright red!”

“Oh come on, Raven, everyone has make up sex, “Clarke retorted, “You and Wick should know. You two quibble about everything.”

“Fair point, but-“Raven’s eyes narrowed slyly as she splashed a bit more of the booze into their cups. “I never really imagined it was possible to argue with Lexa. Which ruled out make up sex.”

“Look, are we going to play this stupid game, or are you just going to keep making fun of me? You have two more questions than our bet is even and you can stop saying I owe you that drink.” Clarke’s sarcasm was teasing; it had been all too long since she’d gotten to drink with a friend.

“Ok.” Raven grinned again. “Never have I ever had sex in the Chancellor’s office. That’s an easy one you can’t say I’m singling—“Raven stopped, mouth agape as Clarke raised the cup, gulping the contents. She cried out in laughter, clapping her hands. “No fucking way!!!! When?!”

Clarke finished the cup, wincing as she set it down. “Last month. When we were both here in Arkadia working on those trade agreements. Abby and Kane were running late, so…”

Raven clapped her hand over her mouth, choking down laughter. “No. Way.”

“It’s called a quickie, Raven.”

“Yeah but in your mom’s office? Imagine if she saw—“

“Ugh.” Clarke held up her hand. “Stop, that mental image is ruining a nice memory. One more question Raven…”

The mechanic could barely concentrate through her laughter. “Okay, well let me think…” The evil glint returned to her eyes after a few moments. “Never have I ever left a hickey where—“

“Clarke?” Lexa’s voice rang out from the doorway to the mess hall.

Raven and Clarke turned to look as the Commander made her way across the room to them. Raven had an enormous grin on her face, eyes sparkling. Clarke just cleared her throat, hoping to high heaven that Raven wouldn’t say anything as Lexa stood next to Clarke.

“Greetings, Raven kom Skaikru.”

“Lexa…” Raven nodded, lifting her cup in salute.

“Ready to go?” Clarke asked, looking up at her lover.

“Sha. The horses are outside. The meeting with Kane did not take long.”

“Good,” said Clarke, standing, “I missed you.” She leaned in against Lexa, kissing the other woman’s cheek. Her hand rested against Lexa’s collarbone, and in the process slightly moved the fur-lined collar of the Grounder woman’s light armor away from her neck. A dark oval bruise was marked on the skin there. Clarke’s hand dropped a moment later and the collar fell back in place.

The blonde woman lifted her cup, saluting Raven—who sat, mouth agape-- with a toast before finishing the last of the moonshine with a smile. The two women took their leave, leaving Raven behind in the mess hall.

“Well….shit,” Raven whispered with a laugh, pouring herself another drink.

xXxXxX

Lexa shivered, bundling her cloak tightly around her. Spring was not far off, yet the last of the winter’s snowflakes weakly swirled through the air. Some rested on her hair, sticking to her intricate braids, the dark chestnut of her hair shot through with steel gray. She shook her head to clear the snow, pulling her cloak up as she searched the market below from her balcony. She spotted her target and began to follow. After all these years, all these decades of war and peace, she could still stalk a target better than any warrior, even if the cold made her scars ache.

She stepped through the door, past the place where Clarke insisted they always share a kiss before they parted for the day. To remember her, to seal a promise, to provide comfort or strength for the days ahead. Whatever the reason, there was always a kiss.

Lexa made her way through the familiar streets. She passed the familiar landmarks, and memories shadowed her steps. The way Clarke had smiled with delight the first time they’d walked these streets, when she’d first proudly given the _Skayon_ girl a tour of the capital city. She walked past the bakers, remembering the way Clarke had shyly asked Lexa to buy her a sweet roll, and the sticky kiss they’d shared afterwards. She walked past the carpenters, the fletchers, the blacksmiths, recalling the way her lover had stared at her peoples’ skilled hands as they built the tools upon which their current golden age of peace had been built. She paused briefly near the potter’s stands, remembering the way in which Clarke had pursed her lip in concentration when the potter had invited her to take the wheel. The bowl she’d made, uneven but radiating with earnest love, still rested next to Lexa’s bed, collecting the wax of a thousand candles since Clarke had first given it to her.

And so Lexa walked, memories flowing through her mind. Of her people, her city, her love. All inescapably woven together.

Lexa reached her target, letting the whisper of her cloak betray her presence to the woman sitting nearby.

Clarke looked up at her, and smiled. The smile lines at the corner of her eyes deepened, and she lifted her hand from the sketchbook in her lap, idly flicking a loose braid back over her shoulder.  Her fingers were dusted black from the charcoal she was using to sketch, and it left a faint smudge on her cheek.

_“Heya, houmon.”_

_“Hei, mohodnes,”_ Lexa replied. She reached down and tenderly wiped the smudge from Clarke’s cheek. Their eyes met, and light bloomed in both of their hearts. Lexa’s gaze tore away from Clarke’s to glance at the half-finished sketch resting on her lap. “What are you drawing today?”

Clarke tipped her head up, gesturing to the market stall across from her, where a young woman bundled medicinal herbs, chatting with passersby, doling out advice and remedies. “The healer. I’ve seen her on our walks through the city. I like the way her eyes light up when she helps someone.”

Lexa looked up briefly. Her eye was not trained as an artist’s like Clarke’s, but it was no less sharp. “She reminds me of you, when we first met.”

Clarke matched her smile. “Maybe.”

Lexa rested her hand briefly on the curve of Clarke’s shoulder. “Would you walk with me through Polis this morning? I’d love your company.”

Clarke nodded happily, tucking her sketchbook and charcoal into the small bag slung over her shoulder. She stood, and taking Lexa’s hand, walked the streets of Polis. It was not their first time walking the city, nor the last, but the sense of accomplishment, of reveling in everything their love, their dedication to peace had built, lasted with each step they took together.

-/Translations/-

 

“Heya, houmon.”= Hello, wife

 


	2. Two Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Give me stories about Lexa, and how she numbs her grief for Costia in brothels and wine as she travels..." Drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by @mesknoxx on Tumblr: "Give me stories about Lexa, and how she numbs her grief for Costia in brothels and wine as she travels, still doing her duty to her people, and forming the coalition, but never caring for herself."

Just once…she tells herself.

Rage and grief, warring for her heart, as her eyes skim over the serving girls weaving throughout the tavern.

She has scrubbed her face clear of warpaint and stuffed the armor that betrays her station into her saddlebags, stowed away in a tent not far from this traveler’s waystation at the very limits of Yujleda territory. She is no one here, another lone traveler searching for respite.

Jok duty, she tells herself. Jok obligation. Jok love. Jok the whole nomonjoking lot of it.

Just once, for just one night, she wants to *feel*. To be that girl she was, before Heda. Before she was anointed in blood at her Ascension. To be the girl who traced fire down her lover’s skin deep in the sacred groves. To be the girl who thought she could keep the promises of one heart to another, untouched by duty and unthreatened by danger.

She aches with it, so badly it hurts. Aches to feel. To stoke the flames of passion so that they melt the cooled iron of her locked-away heart. Her mind and heart war with it, desire and duty two snarling and hungry wolves, trampling reason beneath their demanding claws.

Just once, she tells herself. Just once, to feel. To burn away the weakness within her, so that she will never need this again. To feed the wolf that howls deep within her guts, so that she can cage it forever.

One of the women stops at her table, sloshing more of the rotgut fayawada into the rough-hewn cup clenched in Lexa’s hand. The serving woman’s eyes, pale green, meet Lexa’s with a smile, the corners of her lips curling with an invitation.

“Alone for the evening, gona?” She asks, already knowing the answer.

Lexa bites her lower lip, eyes skimming the bare slope of shoulder peeking out from the woman’s loose-fitting shirt before meeting her gaze.

One wolf within her grabs the other by the throat and shakes.

“I would enjoy some company…” Lexa replies, tamping down on the sadness and the rage that threatens to surface in the cool tone of her voice, rising from the table.

  
She leaves in the morning, pointing her horse back towards Trikru territory, hands loosely gripping the reins.

For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels. Keryon can she feel.

Shame and regret fill the void she had hoped to fill with lust, scratching at the wound she had wanted to scour away. How foolish she was, she berates herself, to think she could have one moment to be anything other than Heda. Anything other than a remnant of a long-dead love.

Her cowl and bowed head hide her face, gleamingly wetly with hot, angry tears, as she vows that Never Again will she make this mistake. Never again will she allow herself to feel.

Love is weakness…


	3. The Orphan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a lifetime of waiting. Several lifetimes, in fact. Yet the moment Lexa caught sight of the flash of blonde hair from across the auditorium she knew. Drabble, Modern!Au, Reincarnation!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by @papurrcat on Tumblr: "Tell me a story using [ a picture of Lexa kneeling before a small blonde girl in a Supergirl costume]": papurrcat dot tumblr dot com slash post slash 147641051302 slash tell-me-a-story-using-this-picture

It had been a lifetime of waiting. Several lifetimes, in fact. Yet the moment Lexa caught sight of the flash of blonde hair from across the auditorium she knew.

She couldn’t help but smile as her heart leapt in both joy and deep relief. The wheels of fate had been kind this cycle. Their souls had found each other early. There would be no decades of waiting. Of heartbreak, of fruitless wishing and fleeting glimpses. Of denial, when fate was cruel and cast them on opposite sides of a war, or an unforgiving time, or any other of the millions of divides that time, people, or culture threw at them.

The memories, the thousands of visions of her over their lifetimes played in Lexa’s mind as she watched the tiny girl in the superhero costume sing and dance on the stage, delivering her lines in the play with childish gusto. Clarke as a healer, as a poet, as a warrior, as a teacher. A child, exactly as she was today, in this time and place. In others Clarke was older, sometimes much older, wizened eyes speaking volumes. And every few cycles, the most precious of all, they were matched, strong and vibrant with the thread of love woven between them.

The sound of applause broke through her reverie, and Lexa joined in with the crowd around her.

A man in a blue uniform with stars in the collar took the stage as the children trooped off the stage. “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you so much for attending the Annual Policeman’s Halloween Charity Ball. All proceeds for the evening benefit the families of officers lost in the line of duty, including the children who just performed. We’re grateful for your support, and would love it if you could join us at the reception next door.”

The hum of conversation filled the air, carrying over into the large dining room next door as the guests filled the space. Lexa filtered amongst them, greeting the beat cops and other detectives she knew, exchanging pleasantries with the Chief when he passed by. The atmosphere in the room became casual as the conversation flowed and stories exhanged, and she found herself ditching her jacket over the back of a chair and rolling up her sleeves as she and her partner Miles compared tales with a handful of rookies.

Her eyes scanned the room, searching. She was not rushed or overeager, but content in knowing her soul’s pressing heavy burden of loneliness was about to be lifted.

And then the final cog of fate turned, sliding all of the pieces into place.

There was a thump and a clatter, and Lexa felt both the splatter of something wet and cold, and a small warm body collide with her leg.

“Clarke! I told you to slow down! I’m so sorry Miss!”

Lexa looked first to the source of the voice, noticing an elderly woman with bright blue eyes rushing towards her. Looking down, another flash of blue, and then golden blonde.

The little girl in the superhero costume hurriedly rushed to pick the plastic cup off of the ground, eyes darting between the punch spattered over the floor and Lexa’s pants, and the elderly woman right behind her.

“I’m sorry, lady.” She looked up at Lexa.

The love of a thousand lifetimes, in all its many forms, bubbled up when blue eyes met brown. The deep respect between teacher and student. The unbreakable bond of warriors united by duty and death. The consuming passion of lovers clinging in the night.The gentle affection of a mother for a child. And the guiding dedication between a mentor and a youth.

“It’s alright,” Lexa said with a smile, kneeling down to come to eye level with the girl.

“I’m so sorry,” the elderly woman huffed apologetically as she came to stand next to them. “She’s a bit of a handful.”

“Really, it’s fine; nothing a dab with a napkin can’t fix,” Lexa reassured her.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the elder woman said politely. “I’m Maggie, and this is Clarke.”

“Detective Lexa Woods. But please, call me Lexa.” The women smiled pleasantly between them for a moment, when a small voice interrupted them.

“I’m not Clarke, I’m Supergirl!” The blonde girl struck a heroic pose, biting her lower lip in determination in a gesture that brought a wave of memory flooding through the detective.

“I’m sorry Supergirl, your secret identity is safe with me,” Lexa intoned in playful seriousness, resting a hand over her heart.

Clarke giggled. “You’re fun!” Turning to the elderly woman her grin grew wider “Lexa can be my sidekick!”

Maggie laughed. “That’s a full time job keeping up with Supergirl, sweetie. A detective is pretty busy. I tell you what, go and carefully get another cup of punch for yourself, and a few napkins for Lexa and come right back, okay?”

With a woosh noise, Clarke made a beeline for the refreshment table.

“It looks like I’ve made a friend,” Lexa quipped.

Maggie smiled, but it softened with an edge of sadness. “She hasn’t warmed up to another adult in a while. This is the first time she hasn’t gotten too upset around uniforms. They remind her of the night the department told us her mother-my daughter- wasn’t coming back home from her shift.”

Lexa swallowed. She was no stranger to loss, but hearing that made her heart ache. Her gaze met Maggie’s.

“I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you. We just keep on living, you know?”

Lexa nodded, and the echo of several lifetimes was heavy in her voice. “That we do.”

Across the room, Clarke turned, searching, hands full of napkins and a cup. Maggie waved to get her attention, and she headed over with a grin.

An idea struck Lexa.

“You know,” she began, searching Maggie’s expression, “I’m part of the Department’s Family Support team. If you’d like, I’d be happy to spend some time with Clarke. Give you a bit of a break, take her to the zoo, the park, maybe a play? If that’s okay with you..?”

Maggie smiled at Lexa as Clarke walked up, offering Lexa a small stack of napkins. “That sounds good to me. But let’s ask Supergirl.”


	4. Immovable Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Commander's looking for you". Lexa internal POV during the march to Mt. Weather. Rumination drabble.

Because, at the head of an Army, unstoppable momentum at her back, carrying the weight of her immovable will, Lexa doubts.

Doubts her decision to slay the Mountain.

Doubts her choices on matters of strategy, decided over long nights bent over maps and reports amid shouting generals.

Doubts the willingness to sacrifice so many of her people in pursuit of that elusive vision of peace, of no longer being subject to another generation of living in fear of the Maunon.

It is too quiet, in that moment, at the head of an army on the march. Their plans have been set, blades sharpened, goodbyes said. Now there is only the sound of the quiet clamor of a thousand warriors moving through the trees behind her.

And-in the moments like this- before she must bathe her hands in blood and embrace the half of her that craves the chaos and immutable test of war with a joyous heart, she doubts.

Instead of folding in on herself, in a moment of near weakness, she calls for Clarke. There. In those blue eyes, in that hint of a smile, she can see the promise, the reassurance. Her reasons for fighting. The tangible promise that, while the Next Day is not promised, and lies across an ocean of blood, it exists, and can be hers.

And she doubts no more.


	5. The Storyteller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storyteller begins the legend of Heda and Wanheda. Drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by commentary from @bigmammallama5 (Tumblr) on the scene with Roan before he fights Lexa, when he speaks with Clarke ("Is that Death I hear stalking me?"): "#no but I am HERE FOR THIS#Clarke as this strange almost mythical figure#years and years and year later#the story of Wanheda survives#Clarke kom Skaikru#who fell from the sky and became the Commander of Death#parents tell their children that she still wanders the Earth#her face covered#hair stained red with the blood of her enemies#she is neither good nor evil#if she is on your side then you will prevail and defeat those who oppose you#if she is against you then you should make peace with your death#if she uncovers her face for you then you know your world is about to change#it does not necessarily mean your death but the death of the life you have known#she is always closely followed Heda Leksa#her lover who swore fealty to her and who now stands by her for eternity#ok so like I need a mythology based on Clarke and Lexa"

“….“The stories they tell these days! Skrish, nothing but lies and superstition!” She shuffles forward from the crowd, shooing the stunned bard away with her walking stick. He jumps back in sheer surprise, mouth agape, hands twisting at his side as she takes his place between the fire and the assembled crowd. The crowd nervously murmurs, but she silences them with a steely glance, dark eyes glittering in the light of the bonfire.

The old woman’s voice is strong and clear, in contrast to her bent and aching body. In a world as harsh as this, her age and the map of scars visible around the edges of her cloak mark her as the strongest of survivors.

“These bards, they know nothing. These tales meant to scare our children and puff up the chests of weak willed Gonas.” Her eyes examine the faces in front of her, sharp eyes peering as if able to see into each person’s heart. “I knew Wanheda. I knew Heda. In the dark times…the times that are just legends now. I will tell you of their true nature, not this pale tragedy these jokas tell.” She looks on the bard with scorn, tilting her chin proudly. “That is,” her eyes turn back to the crowd, “if you are willing to hear of true strength. Of wisdom. Of mercy and vengeance. And, above all, love.”

The crowd is silent, rapt, leaning forward to hear her every word. Even the children are quiet, mouths open in awe at this elder’s conviction.

She settles onto a low seat near the fire. She waves a dismissive hand to the bard. “Make yourself useful, branwada, and bring me a drink. This is no short tale.” He jolts, and hurries off to the barrels near the tents. The elder ignores him and turns her attention to the crowd, searching…

Her gaze falls upon a girl, just on the edge of womanhood, her dark hair already braided in the style of a junior sekon.

“You! Here, Strikgona.” The elder gestures for the girl to come closer, and all can see that despite the lines and wrinkles, her hands are still rough with the callouses of a lifetime of wielding a sword.

The girl scrambles to her feet, standing before the older woman, who reaches to her belt. Gnarled fingers draw forth a dagger, steel darkened with swirling carbon patterns, laying it in the hands of the sekon. Her eyes bore into the girl’s gaze.

“This is the blade of Heda Leksa kom Trikru. Should I falter in my telling, or should her Spirit sense falsehood, you will know it, and must strike me down without hesitation! I am Fleimkepa Oktavia kom Trikru kom Skaikru, and should I fail the legacy of Heda and Wanheda, I will be without honor, and welcome death.”

“Now…let us begin our tale…”


End file.
